


The long and the short of it

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Haircuts, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-29
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: inspired by a post in the JP thread in TWoP





	The long and the short of it

**Author's Note:**

>   inspired by a post in the JP thread in TWoP

Title:The long and the short of it

Universe:Supernatural

Genre:gen

Rating:PG-13, mostly for language, a little sexual situation, nothing graphic.You’ve seen worse in prime-time.

Notes:inspired by a post in the JP thread in TWoP

Comments:welcome, encouraged, jonesed-after…

 

  


Dean was nearly frantic when he ran around the copse of trees and saw Sam there, on the ground. He was sitting there stiffly against the largest tree, wrapped tightly in vines, and staring straight ahead, with his chin jutting out. A stubborn look, and all Sam. Dean knew he was going to be fine.

“I told you the last time you disappeared on me I was going to leave your ass...” Dean said it with a smile, but Sam didn’t laugh. He ground his teeth and pushed his chin out even further. Dean pulled a knife and started cutting away at the vines binding his brother. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me.”

“Good. I was beginning to think that crazy-ass bitch stole your voice or something.”

“She was a dryad, not the sea witch from ‘The Little Mermaid’.”

“ _I know._ Did you figure out what she wanted? Why she was killing people?”

“She was sacrificing them to her trees.”

“Huh. Not like we haven’t seen that before, man. There. Let’s go.” Dean cut the last of the vines and stood up, reaching out a hand to Sam. He didn’t take it. “Let’s _go_.” Sam just sat there, ram-rod straight against the tree. “What’s your problem? I thought you said she didn’t hurt you.”

“She didn’t.”

“So let’s get moving!”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I’m stuck.” Dean was confused. He had gotten all the vines holding Sammy down. He bent down to take a closer look. And Sam was right. He was stuck. The back of his head was firmly stuck in a large patch of sap, oozing from a fresh wound on the tree. It was dripping down his neck, onto his shoulder. Dean couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“Dude, you’re _screwed_! Pine sap is worse than super glue.” Dean laughed so hard he doubled over. Sam kicked out at him from the ground and connected with a shin. Dean snorted and tipped over, giggling like a schoolgirl on the forest floor. Sam was not amused. His breathing was getting all huffy, and rather than his chin, his lower lip stuck out. He was pouting.

“This is not funny. How am I supposed to get out of here? We don’t carry turpentine, or paint thinner, or whatever it is that will dissolve this stuff!” Sam’s voice rose and quavered. Dean rolled over and threw an arm over his face to stifle the last of his outburst. He sighed and sat up, then gave Sam a good hard look.

“I guess we’ll just have to cut you free.” Dean brandished his knife, waggling it in front of Sam’s face and grinning.

“No.”

“ _No?_ What would you suggest, then, professor?”

“I don’t _know_!” Sam practically screamed in frustration. His shoulders bucked and thumped against the trunk of the tree, and if anything, buried Sam’s precious curls even further in the sap.

“Don’t do that! You’ll rip a chunk out.” The vision of a piece of his scalp hanging from the bark forced Sam to still.

“I just don’t want you to cut my hair…” Sam was practically in tears. Dean smiled at his brother.

“You’re such a girl. It’ll grow back.” Sam sighed, a long, shaky breath. Dean put his hand on his shoulder. “Besides, you’ll look more like me.” Sam snorted.

“Just do it.”  
***

More of Sam’s hair was caught in the pine sap than he had first thought, but Dean worked fast. A long, quick slice behind each ear, and then one more straight down the back of Sam’s head. It was almost like shaving. Dean kept his knives sharp.

Sam fell forward and slumped into Dean’s arms after the last cut. He was silent. Dean patted his back like Sam was still his baby brother, not a man, grown, and too big to cuddle and soothe. Sam sniffed, and Dean saw him swipe at his eyes.

“Man, it was just your hair...” Dean hadn’t meant to chastise, but Sam hung his head further, and pressed his face into Dean’s coat until the zipper dug into his cheek.

“I know. It’s just—“ Dean smoothed the uneven patches tenderly, then peeled a sticky lock of bangs off Sam’s forehead, making him wince. “Jess liked it that way.”

“And Dad hated it.”

“I know.” Sam finally looked at Dean. And smiled. “Let’s get out of here. I need a buzz. And a decent haircut.”  
***

Sam yelped and squirmed while the girl worked shampoo through the worst of the chaos that had been his hair. It had taken a long time to find a town with a hair place. The pine sap had dried and firmly glued Sam’s hair to his head. Dean just sat back and laughed. He didn’t bother finding a magazine to read while he waited. This was the kind of cheap hair place staffed entirely by young women, and several of those were pretty enough to keep Dean entertained while ministering to Sam at the same time.

“Your brother got himself into quite the mess, didn’t he?”

“He sure did. Good thing you’re here, or I would have had to finish that hair cut myself. And who knows how pretty he would have been then.” The girl laughed.

“Well, I’m afraid he’s going to look more like late Jake Gyllenhaal than early Keanu Reeves, but you seem to pull if off okay, so he should be fine.”

“He might actually look like my brother for a change.”

“Oh, I could tell you were brothers right away…” The girl blushed and looked away. Dean smiled. Dean’s brain tended to be firmly housed in his pants whenever he wasn’t working. Sometimes it was almost too easy. Dean and Sam in concert was almost cruel in its simplicity and efficiency in picking up women. The promise of more—either more like Dean, or more like Sam—worked every time. Like the appeal of a double-barreled shotgun over a single-shot. _More._  
***

Sam just shrugged and sighed when the girl turned on the clippers. He hated getting his hair cut, and he hadn’t been lying when he told Dean that Jess had liked it the way it had been. It had been the last thing left that really reminded him of her every time he saw it. Sure, he still had some things left from when he was at school, but Jess hadn’t cared about his phone or his computer. And Sam himself had changed so much since her death. He was harder, colder. More like Dean.

He closed his eyes as the clippers passed over his head. He could feel the locks of hair falling away around him, and could hear them hiss as they hit the floor. It was quiet. He could feel Dean’s eyes on the back of his neck. And there wasn’t a peep out of the trio of shopgirls lined up at the side of the counter, their chins on their hands, rapt at his transformation. He knew they could see it. He was turning into Dean before their eyes. And all too quickly.  
***

Sam was still quiet when they left the hair place. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself, but Dean knew it was because he was unhappy with his new shorn sheep look. Sam wasn’t a California college boy any more, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to have a change like this to help ease him back into the life. But they were finished with this particular job and had no other lined up. They could afford to take a little time to have some fun. For Sam, that definitely wouldn’t hurt. It might even help, if he could remember how. Fortunately for Sam, entertaining him had long been part of Dean’s job description.

It was late enough in the afternoon that food was not out of the question. Sam’s appetite had returned some weeks ago. With the added stress of being psychic wonder boy, Sam now ate like he had as a teenager. It always made Dean wonder how they could ever have afforded to feed the both of them as kids. Sam’s metabolism obviously burned high-test.

Dean easily found a restaurant slash bar slash pool hall that looked promising, and was located convenient to their motel. The fun places always seemed to be close to the crappy motels where they stayed. If they were lucky they might even cover their fun night out with a few games of pool and be none the worse for wear financially.

The bar was surprisingly busy for the dive it appeared to be from the outside. And Sam turned heads. _Sam!_ Dean could hardly have chosen better to cheer up his brother, for the place was crawling with women. There was a fair share of men too, but it was the women that mattered—to Dean, at least. He didn’t care what floated Sam’s boat—well, tonight he did, so he would have to pay attention. The women here seemed to appreciate what they had to offer, so Dean just steered Sam in.  
***

Dean was not the most subtle of people, so Sam knew there were plans brewing. He wasn’t in the mood, frankly. He wanted to sulk. If women sometimes just needed a good cry, Sam sometimes just needed a good sulk and all was well. Dean could just shake things off. Sam would brood. He saw that there was not going to be an opportunity for quiet introspection the minute they walked in the bar. Dean was all perky and grinning like an idiot. Then he slipped in some spilled beer and caught Sam’s lapels for stability. And covered with a smirk and a hearty pat; like, “I meant to do that.” That alone started to cheer Sam. His brother always did know how to save him from himself.

Sam stood up straighter and smirked at Dean. He knew it irritated his brother that he was bigger and more noticeable. He figured that was why Dean had such a big personality. Sam usually just found it easier to let Dean talk and jump in if necessary. Usually after Dean had pissed somebody off and he had to salvage the situation for a job. Socially, Sam just let Dean talk. Tonight, especially. Sam was going to drink.

Sam easily caught the bartender’s eye and ordered beers for himself and Dean. He leaned against the bar while he waited, and looked around. He felt itchy, and sort of naked. He felt like someone was watching him, and when he turned to say something to Dean, he nearly knocked over a woman who had been reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. He saw Dean smirk and retrieve their beers, handing one to Sam.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry! I was just going to ask you if you had just gotten a hair cut, because you’ve got a little…” And she reached up and brushed stray hairs from his neck. Sam was struck silent. Dean answered for him.

“Yes, he did. And he’s been self-conscious about it all day.”

“Oh, why! He’s absolutely gorgeous! They can’t have done that bad a job!” She laughed and turned back to Sam. “How pretty were you yesterday?” Sam blushed scarlet all the way to his ears, but laughed as Dean choked on his beer and continued as Sam’s mouthpiece.

“Not quite as pretty as me, but he’s improving.” Sam was really just glad he wasn’t the one talking. Sometimes he could hardly believe what came out of Dean’s mouth. But their new friend just smiled, and Sam could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“You’re brothers, aren’t you.”

“Yeah, sweetheart—“ And Dean couldn’t finish whatever he was going to say because the woman’s girlfriends swept her away in a flurry of chatter and margaritas. Sam could just hear her breathe an “oh, my” as she disappeared, and all the girlfriends’ heads were turned to them long enough to make him squirm. Oh, my, indeed.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Um, no—“

“Forget how to talk to women?” Dean was enjoying this little exercise of Horrify the Little Brother. “That one was flirting with you, you know.” Sam just shook his head and shrugged and rubbed a hand through—well, on his head.

“Dean, I just—I feel naked.”

“Well, naked’s probably the only way you could get more women to look at you right now. Have you noticed how practically every woman in here has been checking you out? And it’s not because you’re standing next to me, which works too, as you know.” Sam laughed.

“I just want to drink my beer. And get something to eat. Can we do that?”

“For now.”  
***

Sam usually didn’t drink much, but when he made up his mind to do something, it was done right, and Sam could throw them back with the best of them. Then, so could Dean. And luckily for bar patrons everywhere, Dean and Sam were happy, lovey, silly drunks, when they even got that far.

Dean was happy to indulge Sam’s drinking binge. Drinking games were easy fun, and he was all about keeping Sam happy tonight. And the girls! They were coming out of the freaking woodwork.

“Say-um!”

“Dean!”

“What do you want to play next?”

“Darts!”

“Ooh, better not, we could kill someone.”

“That’s a good point!”  
***

Sam had been gone to the bathroom for five minutes. Maybe ten. Even drunk, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was at least a little more than buzzing, Sam didn’t take that long. Dean’s worry was immediate. Sam was his responsibility.

Dean worked his way through the restaurant and around the bar. It was getting late, but the place was still pretty full. Lots of girls. Was this a college town? Dean appreciated college towns, even if he never had any intention of attending said associated colleges. The scenery was usually pretty good.

Dean rounded a corner and found himself in the short hall to the restrooms. It was dimmer than even the rest of the place, and wide enough for a long, narrow, ratty sofa on each side. An odd detail in an establishment such as this, but as good a place as any to find Sam covered in blonde. He smirked and made his way back to their table. Sam could use a good grope, at the very least.  
***

Sam and the blonde in question met when they crashed into each other as they exited their respective bathrooms. They connected with such force the girl was nearly knocked to the floor. But Sam caught her, and then tripped all over himself apologizing. It was his loose stance, and drunken shyness that had him glancing between the floor and her face, with one hand gesturing lamely, the other rubbing the back of his neck and his head that did it. The blonde took it in for a minute, then simultaneously crashed into Sam again, knocked him onto one of the nappy sofas, and climbed him like a tree.

Sam was astounded. Pleased, but astounded. He had never had a girl throw herself at him before—literally, in this case. Even in college, when a lot of them were newly bold, newly drinking, or both. Sam had always elicited shy smiles, long glances, and then girls who wanted to be his friend. Depressing. He was nothing like Dean, for whom this must be commonplace. It had been ages, and for a second, Sam was afraid the girl would want to have sex right there in the hall. What did he care? What could they do to him? Hell, what could she do to him? He just sat back and let the girl press herself to him.

“My name’s Sam.”

“Melissa.”

The girl smiled wickedly at him and dove for his ear. Sam laughed. To the point, she was. His hands slipped around her waist and pulled her closer. She nipped his ear and sat back for a kiss. Her hands brushed his shorn head as she ground into him. Sam couldn’t believe he had insisted on keeping his hair long for, well, _so long_. Sure, his longer hair had its advantages. He could easily hide behind his bangs. Girls could grab handfuls of it. It was nice. But the short? Oh God, little hands tracing the outline of his skull, sweeping through bristles. The sensation was amazing. It sent shivers down his spine. He would have to remember to thank Dean later.  
***

Sam found Dean playing pool with three girls. Not hustling them; flirting. With all three. He was shameless. And they didn’t seem to care! Amazing. Sam’s appearance caused a lull in play as the girls’ mouths fell open and they took in both brothers at once.

“Girls, this is my brother. Excuse us.” There was visible sadness in the group. Dean smirked as he led Sam away. “Did you at least get her number?” Sam blushed and grinned a little.

“Saw that, huh?” Dean snorted and laughed. “Dean, it was amazing—“

“Whoa, I don’t want the details!”

“No, no, it’s just—it’s like I’m putting out pheromones or something all of a sudden and everyone wants to touch me. I feel like I’ve had hands on me all night!”

“You _have_ had hands on you all night! Haven’t you noticed? That woman when we first came in? Practically every waitress, the bartender, your little friend in the back. You’re a handsome devil now that you’re not hiding behind that mop. Hell, you’re cramping my style! Well, not really. It’s helping, actually. Not that I need the help…”

“I don’t understand—“

“It’s simple, Sam. You now have the appeal of a conquering hero. Blood on your hands. Wounds to tend. Scars to show. Girls love that, by the way. You’re not the archetypical surfer dude anymore.”

“Archetypical?”

“Shut up. While you did have some success with that look, the warrior does get more tail. Case in point. Now, did you get her number, or what?”

“Yeah, I got it. And I wasn’t a surfer. I was collegiate.”

“Whatever, man. It’s all J. Crew in the end.”


End file.
